


The Taming of Midorima Shintarou

by bexara



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexara/pseuds/bexara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how hard he tries, Midorima can never resist his mate, Akashi. For akanyan who wanted a AkaMido fic along the lines of my AoKaga shapeshifter au. It’s not as long or as detailed as Wildcat Blues, but I hope you enjoy it.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>When Akashi beckons with those pale, slender fingers, the nails already lengthening to claws, Midorima is powerless to resist. His lover, his mate, the small dictator who rules them all with an iron hand and a velvet tongue.</p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	The Taming of Midorima Shintarou

 

When Akashi beckons with those pale, slender fingers, the nails already lengthening to claws, Midorima is powerless to resist. His lover, his mate, the small dictator who rules them all with an iron hand and a velvet tongue.

 

Oh, he tries, stubbornly remaining still, avoiding that red-gold gaze that sees everything. But it is a token defiance, his body already heating up, his fangs already sharpening. He’s been completely tamed. He cannot fight both himself and Akashi, and the other man knows it.

 

Well, he’s not a man, not really, and neither is Midorima. Therein lies the problem. Men that walk on both two legs and four should not exist,  _werecats_  should not exist, and yet they do. The pair of them are living, breathing proof, and the beasts they both carry had long ago chosen the other as his lifemate.

 

  
“Come, Shintarou,” Akashi orders, his honeyed voice rubbing like silk all over Midorima’s too-sensitive flesh.

 

The shogi game they had been playing lies neglected and forgotten beside him. It doesn’t matter. Midorima knows he would have lost. He always loses to this person, only to this person, only to Akashi. It’s frustrating, these matches of theirs, because Midorima knows he’s being toyed with, understands on a fundamental level that Akashi can see the outcome right from the first move, yet he always comes back, like a dog that only knows one trick, and even Oha Asa can’t help him here, no matter how faithfully he follows his horoscope.

 

“It’s still daylight,” he pushes up his glasses, trying one more time to avert what is coming. It’s not that he hates the intimacy. It’s not that he doesn’t want Akashi with a desire so deep, so strong, so animalistic that his teeth ache with it. No, it has everything to do with the embarrassment that comes after. Midorima Shintarou does not cry, does not beg, does not lift his tail and present his ass in a wanton, desperate plea to be filled, to be mastered, to be ridden and plowed and  _fucked_.

 

Except he does.

 

With Akashi, he does all those humiliating, lewd, maddeningly arousing acts, and then he does it again and again and again.

 

Akashi teases him, calling him a cat in heat, and no matter how much he wishes to deny it, that is exactly what he is.

 

“We aren’t humans.” Akashi seems amused. He sheds his exquisitely detailed kimono, letting it fall to the floor.

 

He’s nude underneath, and his slim, toned body is like a beacon for Midorima’s eyes. The heat coiling in his belly becomes an inferno. With a sound equal parts resignation and need, he stalks toward his mate, long limbs moving silently but vibrating with sexual intent.

 

Midorima has lost again, but in losing he’s won, too. Won the slender arms reaching out for him, won the pale skin pressing against him, won the lips now trailing across his neck, his chin, his mouth.

 

“We aren’t humans,” he repeats hoarsely, accepting it as truth, accepting it as a gift. Reason and human mores have no place here. His soul understands that, it’s just his methodical, cautious mind that needs to catch up.

 

The pupils in Akashi’s dual-colored eyes go vertical, another sign his beast is close to the surface.  “Exactly. I don’t like being tested, Shintarou. I’m always right and, because of that, my word is law.”

 

Midorima shivers. Fear and lust explode inside him. His ears pop out, his tail manifests, and the robe he’s wearing becomes uncomfortable, too hot, too itchy, too everything.

 

Akashi holds out his hand again and this time Midorima takes it. His fingers swallow the shorter man’s but he doesn’t kid himself. His mate is, and always has been, completely in charge.

 

The bedroom is five feet away, but it feels like a thousand miles.

 

Once inside, Akashi takes his time peeling Midorima’s clothes off, slowly unwrapping the taller man like a present he wants to savor. Midorima’s glasses fog up, a victim of his erratic breathing and the heat pouring off his body. He’s about to come out of his skin. The heaviness in his groin is agonizing. Akashi looks down, sees his mate’s erection, and his lips curve.

 

“At least your body knows what it wants.”

 

Of course it does. His unruly, treacherous body always responds to Akashi. In class, at practice, during basketball games, one look, one touch, one hint of the other man’s scent is enough to bring him to a violent, unstoppable arousal.

 

“It’s biology,” he avers, but he knows it is more, much more, than that.

 

Mere biology doesn’t send him falling against the wall, legs barely able to support him, as Akashi drops to his knees before him. It doesn’t roll back his eyes and part his lips when a hot, wet mouth finds him, licks him, swallows him down. And it doesn’t arch his back off the bed several minutes later, after Akashi has made him come, taken him to bed, and aroused him all over again.

 

When hands urge him over, he doesn’t protest, doesn’t hesitate, not this time. With an eagerness that always shames him later, he willingly rolls to his stomach. Akashi tugs and caresses his long, sleek tail, forcing a moan out of his mouth, bringing him to his hands and knees.

 

Cats aren’t human, as Akashi said, and Midorima’s body doesn’t need preparation, doesn’t require the time and care a true man’s would. Akashi pushes right in, filling him to the hilt, this one part of his mate belying his short stature.

 

It’s hot and tight and so unbelievably pleasurable that Midorima drops his head to the pillow, biting down to keep from crying out.

 

Akashi won’t have that, however.

 

“No, let me hear you, Shintarou.” His nails scrape down Midorima’s sides and he punctuates each word with a hard, deep thrust.

 

Midorima can do nothing else but comply, lifting his face from the pillow. Akashi reaches around, grabbing his hard, throbbing flesh, and Midorima gasps. His mate chuckles, squeezing and stroking. The most amazing scent falls over Midorima, spicy and feral. It’s the mating scent, and it drives him wild.

 

He pushes back, shamelessly pleasuring himself on Akashi’s cock, moving faster when the hand on him plays along the tip of his erection. Akashi lets him control their mating, but not for long. Letting go of Midorima’s arousal, he grabs the bigger man’s hips, digging in so deep his nails pierce flesh. Holding Midorima still, he begins to thrust, to pound, to hammer and fuck with an abandon others who knew him would find shocking.

 

Midorima doesn’t.

 

This wild, beastlike Akashi is one only he knows, and he can be honest with himself: he revels in that knowledge, that privilege. Fisting his hands into the sheets beneath him, he holds on, letting his mate push him ever closer to completion. When sharp, sharp teeth find his shoulder and bite down, that’s it for him. Pleasure, hot like lightning and just as brilliant, shoots through him. He stiffens, Akashi’s name pouring out of his mouth like the seed pouring from his body.

 

Akashi thrusts a few more time and then groans around Midorima’s flesh, spilling his very essence into his mate’s body, marking and claiming him in the most intimate way possible.

 

Two, bright rivulets of scarlet dribble over his shoulder and down his chest, dripping onto the pristine white sheets. Akashi hasn’t just marked him, he’s bled Midorima, and the taller man practically purrs in contentment. The embarrassment will come later.

 

But, the desire, the need, the overwhelming pleasure and mind blowing satisfaction will come, too. It always does.

 

End 


End file.
